Taken, Not Given
by Reasons Lost
Summary: Teenage Riven meets Katarina for the first time.


"Another" she said quietly with her elbows on the bar, she watched the barkeep intently. He didn't like her, and she could see how her stare made him uncomfortable; he avoided her gaze with a will, and whenever his dull grey eyes met her uncanny reddish ones he looked away, always finding something or someone else to distract himself with in the nearly empty dive. The small muscles under his balding scalp would retract with each exchange, slightly lifting his ears and brow to give him a subtle look of disgust. She wondered why that was for only a moment before deciding it didn't matter. She received looks like that often, and besides, he was wiry and unfit to fight, his value was as a server, she wouldn't allow herself to take offence from a server. 'Offence is taken, never given' she reminded herself.

In short order another drink arrived in front of her. She put it to her lips with urgency, tipping the bottom of her glass to the ceiling as though she were trying to quench a fire in her belly. The empty glass collided loudly with the hardwood bar top, and she wiped her lips on the white wrappings that covered her forearm and shot the bartender another glare. He hadn't stepped away from her, and he was chewing on unspoken words. Words she had already decided she didn't care to hear. He backed off. That was fine, she didn't need any more to drink.

She pushed her messy white bangs out of her swimming vision, making a mental note to cut them so that they couldn't hinder her, and looked down into her open palm to count her coins. She paid for her drinks with a pile of coins worth their exact value. Beside that pile she placed a shiny, newly minted ten piece. More than he'd make for himself the rest of the night. She caught him looking at her when she placed it on the bar, and felt her eye twitch. He made himself busy looking elsewhere.

She placed her hand on the leather wrapped grip of her sword as she stood from her chair. If one measured it from pommel to point it would have been nearly as tall as she was; it made sitting and standing awkward business. Particularly from the high seated chairs in at the bar.

It was with the remnants of her focus invested in leaving her seat without toppling her chair that she stepped widely outward from the bar and crashed directly into one of only a handful of other patrons. Their legs tangled together, and and both struggled with their balance and their instincts. They descended to the floor in a blur of red, black, and white. Somewhere in the middle, blades met one another in a flash; a proper Noxian greeting.

She had drawn her sword to defend herself, and she now found herself leaning over a spot of vibrant colour in the otherwise dirty grey room. The blade of her plain longsword held against the edges of two sturdily constructed daggers. Thick red hair fanned out around where they lay on the floor, and two gorgeous green eyes smiled up at her. It struck her that the girl beneath her smiled despite how close they'd come to bloodshed. She liked that.

Riven relieved some of the pressure on her sword, and she felt the legs tangled up in her own loosen from behind her knees. She couldn't seem to force herself to move, however. They'd locked eyes, and when the girl below her, with her perfect porcelain face and pretty green eyes didn't look away, it felt new.

"Can I buy you a drink?" she asked without hesitation. She knew immediately that this girl was someone worth knowing. Someone with character, and prowess.

"You're a soldier?" the girl asked in return, evading the question rather than answering it. Riven nodded as she stood, replacing her sword at her hip, and offering her hand instead. "You look too young to be a soldier", the girl lept to her feet rather than accepting the hand, Riven withdrew it with a smirk.

"You can't be more than a couple years older than me", she speculated, looking up at the other girl who had a few inches of height on her. She wondered if she'd be the taller of them in a few years time. "Anyone strong enough to wield a blade. And I'm _very_ good." It was no mean boast; she had already set herself apart amongst her peers. There were rumours she couldn't feel fear.

"And how many men do you command?" came the next question. Riven blinked.

"None" she answered. She made no excuses for that fact. It was liberating to be taken seriously without having to prove herself, she wouldn't disrespect the gesture with excuses.

"Then not good _enough_ " the other girl said. Her tone was smug, but without cruelty; challenging. "Yet" she amended. "I know your face, I've seen you training with my father's men. What's your name?"

"Riven" she answered evenly. She tried to think who this girl's father might be; she'd trained with anyone who would have her.

"Katarina" the girl said in turn. "Katarina Du Couteau." The name sent bells ringing all through Riven's head. She _knew_ that name. Where most would have shivered she felt herself grinning.

"And when I command a hundred men, can I buy you that drink, Katarina Du Couteau?" she ventured. Katarina considered her with a perked brow, but nodded.

"If that day comes" she said, and turned to walk away. Riven stood in silence, watching Katarina's back disappear out the front door. That day would come, she decided. She allowed herself to take offence that had not been given; Katarina was not beneath her notice, she knew, and that it was not because of a family name _thrilled her._


End file.
